


We're In The Ring And We're Coming For Blood

by Evoxine (orphan_account)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Drama & Romance, M/M, Prostitution, Violence, mentions of BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 06:28:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17054888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Evoxine
Summary: Sehun knows he's in a bad place, but he doesn't quite seem to be able to wrench himself free. Yifan watches from the sidelines until he can no longer stomach it.





	We're In The Ring And We're Coming For Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and posted on LJ in **2014**. Apart from a quick read through to fix typos and stuff, **I did not edit much of the fic.**

When you're rich and alone, sometimes all you can do is head down to a dimly lit bar and watch as other people go about with their lives while yours stays stagnant. At the young age of 23, Wu Yifan is placed high enough on his company's hierarchy to earn seven figures a year but not high enough to be in the public's spotlight. A perfect position, really. With no intention whatsoever to continue his rise in the ranks, Yifan spends his weekdays working for twelve hours before returning to his own penthouse and nursing a glass of single malt Scotch whisky. A hot shower and the occasional cigarette later, he'll fall into a dreamless sleep and wake up the next morning ready to repeat the same, dreary routine. On the weekends, however, he'll sleep in until two in the afternoon, get some errands done, get some reports finished, and head over to his favourite bar a couple of blocks down the road from his complex where he'll spend the rest of his night.

On the weekends, he switches from Scotch to Cognac, and instead of blinking at his flatscreen TV, he watches people – in particular, a tall, lissome boy as he flits past tables, dark eyes scouring faces for ones he knows he can snatch. Yifan doesn't know the boy's name, but he knows three things about him for certain: one, he's barely legal; two, he's a prostitute; and three, he carries around a bruised heart.

It's a weird habit, Yifan knows, coming to this bar every Saturday and Sunday night just to watch this young boy pick up customers. Sometimes Yifan is at the bar long enough to watch him pick up a second or third john – but he never stays past the third. Not because of the time, but because of something else Yifan can never quite pinpoint. Despite curiosity blossoming in every possible aspect, Yifan refrains from approaching the boy; he simply cannot be caught with a prostitute.

Today is a Sunday, and Yifan's barely settled into his usual booth when his regular glass of Cognac's brought up to him. Giving the waitress a polite smile, he slides a five dollar bill over the counter as a tip and leans back into his seat. The soft velour moulds against the curve of his back, settling around the projections of each vertebra. He's just lifted the glass up to his lips when he spies a flash of blond hair against a shorter, balding patch. Resting the rim of his glass on his bottom lip, Yifan watches the boy leave the bar, willowy fingers wound around the elbow of a middle-aged businessman. Just as Yifan was about to look away into the depths of his drink, his eyes meet familiarly hollow ones, and he feels hot ice crystallise in his veins. Then, the boy is gone and Yifan is left alone. The glass weighs heavily in his hands.

Yifan stays at the bar for another two hours, but the boy does not return. Leaving a few sips worth of Cognac in his glass, Yifan sets it on the table and leaves quietly. He falls asleep to unusual waves of uneasiness.

 

 

 

  
The next week, Yifan returns to the bar at ten o' clock on the dot. Yet, even before he sets foot inside, he knows something is amiss. The place is as dimly lit as ever, the curve of the glass is oh-so-familiar, but there's no blond head piercing through the dark. A crease forms between Yifan's brows and the alcohol remains untouched as his eyes scan the place. He does, however, spot one of Sehun's regulars sitting by the bar. Mustering up some weird sort of courage, Yifan walks over to the rubbery looking male with his glass in hand.

"Excuse me," Yifan starts, slithering between the man's barstool and an empty one to his right. "May I ask you a question?"

"What is it," the man responds flatly, tubby fingers tight around a gin and tonic.

"The blond boy you're with sometimes – do you know where he is?"

The man snorts. "You mean Sehun? Prostitute? Yeah, he left this place. Heard he's at some BDSM den in the sketchy part of town now. Pity, really. That place is shady as fuck – although I guess he'd earn more there – and he's pretty good in bed for a decent price. Whatever though, there're more out there. I know of this one Chinese boy – small, kittenish, submissive. Interested? I could give you his number."

"Ah, no, I'm fine, thanks." Yifan takes a hasty gulp of his drink and the alcohol singes on its way down. "Thanks for the help."

The man shrugs and turns back towards the empty bar.

When Yifan leaves, it's ten minutes to eleven. The bouncer gives him a surprised look that Yifan completely misses as he tugs a coat over broad shoulders.

The bouncer's surprise continues through the next night when Yifan heads into the bar only to come out ten minutes after, the smell of alcohol missing from his breath. Yifan catches the bouncer's look and chuckles tightly.

"Remembered that I had something to do," Yifan lies smoothly, and slips into his car. The wheels screech against the asphalt as Yifan peels away out onto the main street.

 

 

 

  
For some reason, alcohol has lost most of its appeal over the next few weeks. Instead of pouring himself a glass of Scotch when he comes home from work, Yifan buys an insane amount of fruit and a high-powered blender. His best (and only) friend, Yixing, walks into Yifan's place one day and nearly hits his head on an open cabinet out of shock when Yifan turns the blender on without knowing of Yixing's presence.

"What the fuck are you doing," Yixing yells, and his voice is barely heard over the thundering of the power blender. Yifan's eyebrows rise along with his eyes and he shuts the blender off apologetically.

"Making a smoothie," he says, waving his arm across the kitchen island where a pile of fruits are placed haphazardly upon.

"Smoothie," Yixing repeats, shutting the cupboard door. "You. _Smoothie_."

"Yeah," Yifan says, scratching the back of his head. "They're yummy. And healthy. And cheap. I've saved a lot the past couple months!"

Yixing makes a face. "Did you run out of alcohol or something? Low on money?" As he speaks, he heads over to Yifan's liquor cabinet and pulls on the doors.

"Nope, still got liquor," Yixing mutters. Turning on his heel, he sets his hands on his hips and fixes his friend with a look. "What's up. Talk to me."

"Nothing's up," Yifan says, hitting a button and sending the blender into a frenzy. Yixing winces but lets the blender chop up apples and bananas into an infinite number of tiny, tiny pieces.

"Want some?" Yifan asks. "It's really good with some honey."

"You can make me whatever smoothie you want to make me if you tell me what's up."

Scoffing, Yifan extracts two tall glasses and pours the smoothie out. Drizzling some honey across the top, he pushes a glass towards Yixing and gestures for him to drink up.

"Tell me," Yixing insists, but drinks anyway. He tries to hide it, but Yifan doesn't miss the widening of eyes and the small flick of tongue across lips.

"Told you," Yifan grins, and slurps down a gigantic gulp.

Grabbing the bottle of honey, Yixing squeezes out another dollop into his glass. "I swear to god Yifan –"

"His name is Sehun," Yifan interrupts, eyes cast towards his feet. "He's not at the bar anymore."

"Where is he now?"

"A BDSM den."

"Shit," Yixing mutters, and Yifan sighs.

"I know," he mumbles into his glass. The bananas don't seem to settle his stomach for once.

 

 

 

  
It's only after Yifan finds himself refusing a glass of his favourite red wine at a business dinner (his boss outright gapes at him) that he finally realises he needs to do something about Sehun's absence from ~~his life~~ the bar.

The first thing he does that night is drive around town until he locates the BDSM den. After he finds it – hidden away in an alley with an obnoxiously red door as its entrance – he sits in his idling car for a good twenty minutes before deciding to get out and head inside. His heart throbs in his mouth as he leaves the safety and comfort of his car; the brief walk to that Big Red Door takes longer than he thought it would, and when he finally pushes against it, there's a thin sheen of sweat across his forehead.

No bouncer, but there's a very long front desk. The lady behind the counter has her lips painted blood red, and her nails and filed into points and coated liberally with cheap, black polish.

"Hi honey; do you have an appointment?" A tangy drawl. Gum snaps between her molars.

With every inhalation, her suffocated breasts seem to rise a metre into the air.

"Um, no," Yifan says.

"Would you like to look around then?" The end of her pen points to a pair of red velvet curtains just behind her and off to the left.

"Yeah, could I?"

She snorts and leans back in her seat. Her breasts nearly hit the bottom of her chin.

"Go right ahead baby," she says in that drawl. "Knock yourself out."

Yifan's initial plan of looking for a blond head doesn't work out quite well. Half the women walking around in the place are blonde, and the fact that some are working the pixie or the bob does not help whatsoever. He's wondering if he's got the wrong place when a familiar figure flashes past him, complete with blond hair.

"Sehun?"

A head whips around and Yifan's breath is momentarily taken away at the utter lack of emotion in Sehun's eyes.

"I have a client in ten minutes, but you can –"

"No," Yifan interrupts quickly. "I was just looking for you."

Sehun tilts his head and steps closer. He squints at Yifan's face for a few moments until realisation dawns upon him.

"You're that guy who's always alone in that bar a few streets away. Why are you looking for me?"

Yifan opens his mouth to answer, but what does he tell Sehun? That he was worried? That he, for some reason, missed his presence? That he really doesn't know why he's looking for him?

Before he could decide, someone taps on Sehun's shoulder and pulls him away. Yifan's left inhaling ragged breaths of air in the musty room.

 

 

 

  
Yifan spends another couple of weeks fighting with himself until Yixing cracks and nearly chucks a glass of blended green juice at Yifan's head.

"Do something about all this!" Yixing exclaims, flapping his hand in Yifan's face. "Green juice is fucking disgusting!"

In the end, Yifan's dialling the number to the den with Yixing behind him, watching his every move like a hawk. In a matter of seconds, he's booked an appointment with Sehun.

"But I don't even like BDSM," he tells Yixing weakly.

"You don't have to practice BDSM simply because you're in a BDSM den," Yixing snorts. "Hell, you don't even have to touch him."

 

 

 

  
The lady behind the front desk winks at him and points him through another set of curtains behind her – to the right.

"Three doors down, to the left. He'll be there momentarily. Enjoy."

Yifan mumbles something incoherent and hurries through the curtains. The dust nearly causes him to sneeze a lung out. Making a left into the third door, he finds himself in a rather spacious room, with red lacquered furniture and a row of pegs with various apparatuses hung on them. There's a pair of chains bolted to the ceiling in a corner, and Yifan pretends they're not there. Finding two additional lamps by the bed, Yifan switches them on just as Sehun walks in.

"It's you," Sehun says simply. "Hello again."

Something washes over Yifan and he finds himself reaching out and encircling Sehun's wrist with his hand. Sehun all but tumbles towards Yifan and he stands still as Yifan's fingers set to work. Sehun's simple, dark button down is flung open with not a single second to waste – and Yifan drops his hands in horror.

There are bruises of all colours scattered across Sehun's chest and back, with the occasional scar placed amongst them that Yifan knows has to come from the slashings of knives. There are whip marks across Sehun's back in a criss-crossed pattern, and discoloured burns travel down his sides.

Yifan turns Sehun sideways and stares at a fresh knife wound on his shoulder.

"Why do you do this?" He whispers, the tip of his forefinger tracing the shape of the wound's track just a centimetre off to the side.

"It's good money," Sehun replies. Rehearsed.

"How can anyone do this to someone else?" Yifan asks, more rhetorical than not. Sehun shrugs anyway.

"I would appreciate it if no blades were used tonight," Sehun says, eyes shining.

"Nothing's going to be used tonight," Yifan mutters, and pulls Sehun over to the bed. "Sit."

 

 

 

  
"My dad's abusive. He's an alcoholic." Sehun watches as Yifan fumbles around in a nondescript cupboard by the wall. "My mother passed away when I was young. Hit and run."

Yifan returns to Sehun's side with a first aid kit in hand. The surface is horribly dusty, and Yifan wipes the dust off on the bedspread with obvious contempt. Sehun hides a smile.

"I've two younger brothers and a sister," Sehun says, "someone needs to support them. Put them through school, hopefully, university. Give them the means to get a good job. I want them to experience life outside of my father's life-seeping hands."

"How old are they?" Yifan asks, dabbing antiseptic onto balled cotton.

"One's in 7th grade, one 5th, and my baby sister is turning six soon. Have to buy her a birthday gift. Was thinking maybe a lifesized Eeyore plush toy– she loves him."

Sehun stops talking and hisses in pain when Yifan swipes the cotton across the wound.

"I'm sorry," Yifan says, and blows cool air over the surface in an attempt to soothe the burn.

"It's okay. I should be thanking you instead. I never would've bothered myself."

"You should. It could get infected, you could fall sick."

Sehun looks over his shoulder at a bent-at-the-waist Yifan, who's on the mattress and on his knees for better leverage.

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

Dressing the wound, Yifan smoothes his finger over the strip of adhesive and shuts the first aid box.

"How old are you, Sehun?"

"Eighteen," he answers truthfully. "I would've just finished high school," he adds a little wistfully.

Fitting a large hand over Sehun's right ribcage, Yifan strokes marred skin slowly and gently.

"Yeah, you would've. You should have."

Sehun closes his eyes and lets Yifan's hands meet his skin on a much deeper level than he's used to.

 

 

 

  
When Yifan returns home that night, he stores the blender away into storage and stands outside his liquor cabinet. Jaw tensing, he turns away and spends an inordinate amount of time in the shower. He drinks nothing, not even water, and heads to bed with a dry mouth. He suspects it's not just from the lack of liquids.

He makes an appointment with the den again for the next night. Same person, same time.

Sleep takes over like a bad drug addiction, and he wakes up feeling like he's horribly hungover.

 

 

 

  
Thankfully, Yifan thinks, his work routine is so ingrained in him; otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to get through the workday whatsoever. Yixing stops by his office as he's about to leave.

"How'd it go?"

"Bad, in a sense. He's quite battered," Yifan says flatly, shoving papers into his briefcase. "I'm seeing him again tonight."

"Take care," is all Yixing says, but Yifan knows he's referring to them both.

"Yeah," Yifan replies, clapping Yixing on the shoulder and leaving the room.

 

 

 

  
Sehun has fresh bruises along his ribs, as if they were newly planted plants in the rows of earth between each groove. Yifan spends a few quiet minutes rubbing ointment over them, and Sehun's head is bowed, breath fanning over Yifan's suited shoulder.

"When you'd be at the bar... Were you there just for me?"

"Not in the beginning," Yifan answers, capping the bottle and checking the wound on Sehun's shoulder. It's still quite fresh, and scabbing's just started to happen. He fishes around in the first aid box for a new band-aid. "But for the rest of the time, yes."

"Why?"

"There's just something about you I guess," Yifan says vaguely, eyes flicking up to catch Sehun's dark ones in the dim light.

Sehun looks down at him, eyelids trembling, and Yifan fits an equally shaky hand along the sharpness of Sehun's jaw.

"Sometimes people just take you places you never thought existed," he says, and drops a kiss on a sunken cheek.

 

 

 

  
Today is Tuesday, and it's been a few weeks since their first meeting. Yifan's at work, the computer screen glaring at him as he scribbles away on a pad of paper.

His phone begins to vibrate, the slim piece of technology clattering across the polished wood of the table. Picking it up, Yifan frowns at the unknown number before hitting _Accept Call_.

"Hello?" A soft voice floats up into his ear and Yifan tightens his grip on his phone. Sehun's never called him before.

"Sehun?"

"Hi," comes the reply, and Yifan looks away from his computer screen, choosing instead to stare out the window.

"Are you okay? Hurt? Do you –"

"No, I'm fine," Sehun says, and Yifan thinks he detects sounds of traffic in the background. "I called just to tell you I quit. From the den. Today."

"Really? Sehun, that's great –"

"I kinda need your help though," Sehun interrupts, tone apologetic. "But it's okay if you don't want to – I mean, we just met not long ago and I don't want you to think that –"

"What do you need help with?"

 

 

 

  
Yifan pulls up to the side of the empty road and sets his car into neutral. There, on the curb, stands Sehun and his siblings. He's got his youngest sister hugging his leg, and his brothers are behind his back, seemingly nervous.

"Hey," Yifan says, climbing out of the car. "Where are your things?"

"I put their clothes and essentials in their backpacks. We don't have much. My father sold a good amount of the things we owned. Needless to say, he was quite happy when I told him we were leaving. Less mouths to feed," Sehun shrugs, and Yifan wants to press Sehun's face against his chest.

"Come on then, I'll try and give you all that I can," Yifan says, avoiding Sehun's gaze, instead choosing to smile at the girl, holding out a patient hand until she lets go of Sehun's leg and curls tiny fingers into his palm.

Yifan fastens the seat belt around her and gives her brothers what he hopes to be a friendly smile as they climb into the back seat on either side of her. Sehun slides into the passenger seat after giving Yifan a hushed _thank you_ that Yifan brushes aside.

"I took the liberty of calling up a few homeschool teachers/tutors; I know I can't enrol them into school because I don't have the necessary paperwork, but homeschool should do for now until you've decided if you want to sue your father for incompetent parenting or otherwise," Yifan says as the makes a turn. "Are you okay with that?"

"That sounds amazing," Sehun breathes, glancing over his shoulder at his siblings. "Really."

Yifan smiles and reaches over to squeeze Sehun's hand.

 

 

 

  
Yifan had been under the impression that Sehun was completely free of any forms of prostitution whatsoever after he left the den. But apparently, he was wrong. Sehun's cell had rung one day during dinner, and he had left the table with a hand cupped around his mouth for privacy. He came back, flashed Yifan an easy smile, and Yifan hadn't suspected anything then. Sehun left at 10pm that night, claiming he had a friend to meet. Still, Yifan had no reason to worry.

Until Sehun came home at 3am in the morning, battered and bruised, with a gash near his eye and sporting colourful patches all over his torso. There are marks that look awfully like cigarette burns near his collarbone, and Yifan nearly threw a fit, all but ripping Sehun's shirt off in order to get a better look under the dim light.

"What did you do," Yifan grits, forcing Sehun down onto a chair an uncapping antiseptic.

"Client," Sehun mumbles, face tilted and hair in his face.

"Client?" Yifan echoes in disbelief. "I thought you left that lifestyle behind you when you quit!"

"But he pays so well," Sehun whispers, reaching into his back pocket. A wad of cash comes out clutched in his fingers.

"You can't," Yifan says, and hears the begging laced between his words. "What about your siblings?"

"They're already used to seeing me like this," Sehun replies, empty.

Yifan, speechless, cleans up Sehun as best as he can. Sehun leaves the room with a soft goodnight. Yifan doesn't get another wink of sleep that night.

 

 

 

  
This continues for the next three weeks. Sehun will leave at 10pm every third day, and Yifan will stay awake, tossing and turning in his bed until Sehun returns. He doesn't know what to say to Sehun anymore, instead spending a half hour tending to whatever wounds Sehun returns with before letting Sehun leave his side in silence.

He so desperately wants Sehun to stop. To stop getting hurt, to stop hurting himself, to stop telling himself this is all he's good for. But how?

It's only when he walks in on a snoozing Sehun at 9:50pm one night does he know what he can do. It's the night he's due to meet his client – Yifan knows because the client had called during dinner, like always. Running on a sudden rush of adrenaline, Yifan hunts for Sehun's phone, finding it on the floor by the sofa. Sending a quick text to the client, feigning a bad memory, Yifan gets ahold of the address. He's out the door a minute later, jacket fluttering behind him as he moves.

 

 

 

  
His fist sinks into the rippled jowls of Sehun's client, sending the guy tumbling back and onto a glass coffee table.

"That one is for being a sick fucking bastard," Yifan spits, retracting his hand before landing another one to the man's gut. "That one is for hurting someone who shouldn't be hurt."

He punches the guy a third time and feels cartilage crumbling under his knuckles. "That one is for not letting him realise how amazing he is. For belittling him, for making him feel like this is all he's worth."

The guy snarls at him through bloodied teeth, and Yifan feels pure anger surge up behind his eyes.

"You call him one more time," Yifan hisses, towering over the man, hair in his eyes. "I will break you."

The man says nothing, a hand against his jaw and another clamped over his broken nose. Yifan's a good head taller than him, and filled out in all the right places. He's no match and he knows it.

" _I will fucking break you_ ," Yifan repeats. "Take my word for it."

He leaves with blood clinging to the skin on his fist.

 

 

 

  
"What did you do?" Sehun asks, horrified. Yifan toes off his shoes and looks at Sehun tiredly.

"Why do you not see that you are so much more than you think you are?" Yifan asks, running his left hand through his hair in frustration. "Why? Do you not realise that you mean the world to your siblings? Why do you do this even if you know you'll hurt them?"

"It's the only thing I can do!" Sehun argues, eyes ablaze. "It's the only thing I know _how_ to do, and it's the only way I can support them!"

"Wrong," Yifan says, stalking over to Sehun and grabbing him by the forearms. "Wrong. Not anymore. I'm more than willing to do everything for you, but you don't see that. You just don't see it. Yes, maybe that argument would've worked a couple of months ago, but not anymore. You mean the world to your siblings, Sehun, but you mean a hell of a lot to me, too."

Sehun's eyes slip from Yifan's face and land on bloodied knuckles.

"Come," Sehun mumbles, fingers light over Yifan's wrist. Cold water laps at the bloodstains until all that are left are shallow marks that Sehun dabs antiseptic over.

"I'm sorry," Sehun says, letting Yifan's hand go. "I'm really sorry. I just –"

A hand around his waist shuts him up, and Yifan pulls him close. Closer and closer until their noses brush. Yifan watches tenderly as Sehun's eyelids flutter shut, as he leans in ever-so-slightly. Yifan copies the movement, tastes want and longing on his tongue as the distance between them disappears by the millimetre.

Sehun's lips are as soft as Yifan had imagined, and Sehun kisses with a fervour that's been bottled up inside him for ages. Finger come up to tug at Yifan's hair, and a tongue nudges against Yifan's lips, silently asking for permission.

Yifan lets Sehun do anything and everything. He's pressed up against the refrigerator and Sehun's hands are hot against his neck, lips slick against his own. Sehun's smaller frame fits nicely into his own, and Yifan's never been so happy that he's socked a guy in the face before.

 

 

 

  
"Fanfan," Minjung calls, fingers tugging on the hem of Yifan's shirt. "I want jelly!"

"Okay," Yifan says easily, reaching down to pick the young girl up. Minjung fiddles with Yifan's tie as they make their way to the kitchen. She's just finished her schooling for the day, and it's become a silent agreement between them that she deserves a reward after every school session.

The kids are still being homeschooled; Sehun's still trying to figure things out. But they don't really mind, as they get to play around during breaks and sprawl across the couch with the TV on. Sehun takes the time during their lessons to self-teach himself a few things as well – Yifan will usually come home to find Sehun's face in textbooks and his siblings piled around him watching one cartoon or another.

"How's studying?" Yifan asks, setting Minjung down on the carpet as she clutches her jelly. He settles down next to Sehun.

Sehun leans in and gives him a welcome home kiss before shutting the textbook.

"Good. I think History is my favourite subject so far," he informs Yifan with bright eyes.

"You'd make a hot history professor," Yifan whispers into Sehun's ear, and laughs when Sehun flushes and hits him across the arm.

The cuts and bruises have healed well, some leaving behind scars, but that's to be expected. Sehun isn't bothered by them, so Yifan has no reason to be. He likes to spend time dropping kisses onto them when they're in bed and writhing against each other, however, but Sehun doesn't really mind that either.

"Can we have Thai food tonight?" Sekyung asks, a grin plastered across his face. Yifan turns to look at his excited face, and points to the takeout drawer menu.

"Only if you order," Yifan says, "it's good to practice your formal language."

"Deal!" Sekyung says, and prods at his older brother to pass him the phone.

Sehun watches the exchange with a raised eyebrow. "Blackmail? He's still young," he admonishes, sliding a hand around Yifan's neck.

"I'm devious like that," Yifan winks, and lets Sehun tug him down towards his face with a laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> [Click for Links!](https://bluedveins.wixsite.com/evoxine)


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